Proverbial Philosophy / The First and Second Series

by Unknown

OF RIDICULE.

Seams of thought for the sage's brow, and laughing lines for the fool's face;

For all things leave their track in the mind; and the glass of the mind is faithful.

Seest thou much mirth upon the cheek? there is then little exercise of virtue;

For he that looketh on the world, cannot be glad and good:

Seest thou much gravity in the eye? be not assured of finding wisdom;

For she hath too great praise, not to get many mimics.

There is a grave-faced folly; and verily, a laughter-loving wisdom;

And what, if surface-judges account it vain frivolity?

There is indeed an evil in excess, and a field may lie fallow too long;

Yet merriment is often as a froth, that mantleth on the strong mind:

And note thou this for a verity,—the subtlest thinker when alone,

From ease of thoughts unbent, will laugh the loudest with his fellows:

And well is the loveliness of wisdom mirrored in a cheerful countenance,

Justly the deepest pools are proved by dimpling eddies;

For that, a true philosophy commandeth an innocent life,

And the unguilty spirit is lighter than a linnet's heart:

Yea, there is no cosmetic like a holy conscience;

The eye is bright with trust, the cheek bloomed over with affection,

The brow unwrinkled by a care, and the lip triumphant in its gladness.

And for yon grave-faced folly, need not far to look for her;

How seriously on trifles dote those leaden eyes,

How ruefully she sigheth after chances long gone by,

How sulkily she moaneth over evils without cure!

I have known a true-born mirth, the child of innocence and wisdom,

I have seen a base-born gravity, mingled of ignorance and guilt:

And again, a base-born mirth, springing out of carelessness and folly;

And again, a true-born gravity, the product of reflection and right fear.

The wounded partridge hideth in a furrow, and a stricken conscience would be left alone;

But when its breast is healed, it runneth gladly with its fellows:

Whereas the solitary heron, standing in the sedgy fen,

Holdeth aloof from the social world, intent on wiles and death.

Need but of light philosophy to dare the world's dread laugh;

For a little mind courteth notoriety, to illustrate its puny self:

But the sneer of a man's own comrades trieth the muscles of courage,

And to be derided in his home is as a viper in the nest:

The laugh of a hooting world hath in it a notion of sublimity,

But the tittering private circle stingeth as a hive of wasps.

Some have commended ridicule, counting it the test of truth,

But neither wittily nor wisely; for truth must prove ridicule:

Otherwise a blunt bulrush is to pierce the proof armour of argument,

Because the stolidity of ignorance took it for a barbed shaft.

Softer is the hide of the rhinoceros, than the heart of deriding unbelief,

And truth is idler there, than the Bushman's feathered reed:

A droll conceit parrieth a thrust, that should have hit the conscience,

And the leering looks of humour tickle the childish mind;

For that the matter of a man is mingled most with folly,

Neither can he long endure the searching gaze of wisdom.

It is pleasanter to see a laughing cheek than a serious forehead,

And there liveth not one among a thousand whose idol is not pleasure.

Ridicule is a weak weapon, when levelled at a strong mind:

But common men are cowards, and dread an empty laugh.

Fear a nettle, and touch it tenderly, its poison shall burn thee to the shoulder;

But grasp it with a bold hand,—is it not a bundle of myrrh?

Betray mean terror of ridicule, thou shalt find fools enough to mock thee;

But answer thou their laughter with contempt, and the scoffers will lick thy feet.

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